by Jana DeLeon
Myrtle was still at the front desk and looked as if she would drop from exhaustion at any minute. Her mascara trailed down her face, adding to the dark spots under her eyes. Her silver hair was mashed completely against her scalp in some places and standing straight on end in others. “I tried to stop them,” she said, “but they weren’t having any of it.”
“Where did they take Gertie?” Ida Belle asked.
“To the drunk tank. With only two cells back there, we run out of space quick. The state police brought in the bus and started loading everyone up to carry to New Orleans. I’ve never seen such a mess in all my years living here, and I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”
Ida Belle gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re overwrought and overtired. I’m going to call for some help.” She pulled out her phone and called Marie. “I need you to come help Myrtle down at the sheriff’s department.”
A couple seconds later, Ida Belle slipped her phone back into her purse. “Marie will be here in five minutes.”
I took a moment to marvel over Ida Belle’s command over her minions. Talk about respect and trust. No one except Gertie ever questioned her. The SLS women just jumped into action, automatically assuming that whatever Ida Belle asked for was necessary.
“Thank you,” Myrtle said. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can’t even keep up with the paperwork, and New Orleans will be expecting a list of those arrested and what they’re being charged with.”
She lifted a stack of assorted paper clumped on her desktop. “This is what I have to go on. Some of the arrest information is literally written on bubble gum wrappers.”
“Don’t worry about all that,” Ida Belle said. “Marie is in her element with paperwork.”
“That’s true,” Myrtle agreed, looking a tiny bit hopeful.
“Can we head back to the drunk tank?” Ida Belle asked. “We need to see about springing Gertie.”
“Fine with me,” Myrtle said. “Hell, tell them I sent you. Bunch of commies, rolling in here and taking over like it’s a police state.”
I grinned as we headed back to the drunk tank. The two cops who had hauled Gertie and Celia in passed us in the hallway without even giving us a second glance. They looked as exasperated as we did.
Another state policeman, this one tall and with gray hair, stood in front of the two cells. Gertie occupied one and Celia the other. It was a good thing both cells were empty. Separated by bars was probably best for everyone concerned. The state policeman glanced at Gertie and cringed, his expression a mixture of horror and “why me?”
We stepped up behind him and Ida Belle started to speak, but then the arguing started.
“I can’t believe you’re just sitting there like that,” Celia said.
“You mean on my butt?” Gertie asked. “That’s pretty much the accepted method of sitting for those of us that don’t have a stick up it.”
“I mean without clothes.”
“You’re the one who ripped off my dress, so what you see is what you get.”
Celia’s face turned red and she swung around to face the state policeman. “I’m not sitting in here with her half naked,” Celia yelled.
“What the hell are you bitching about?” Gertie asked. “I’m the one with a chill.”
“At least throw a blanket over her,” Celia said.
“I’m not letting some prison blanket touch my bare skin. No telling which Sinful drunk sweated on it last.”
“If I have to stay in here one more minute, I’m filing sexual harassment charges against the city.”
“If you’re elected mayor, that means you’ll be suing yourself.”
The policeman narrowed his gaze on Celia. “You’re running for mayor?”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to tell you people that ever since you hauled me in here. This woman attacked me while I was giving a campaign speech. I’m the victim here.”
Gertie snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The only victims in this equation are everyone who’s spent more than a minute in your presence.”
The policeman, whose badge read Officer Crawford, opened the door and motioned for Celia to step out. She shot a smug look at Gertie, then walked past Ida Belle and me, not even bothering to hold in her grin as she exited the cellblock.
“Where is she going?” Ida Belle asked.
“I’m releasing her on her own recognizance,” Crawford said.
“Just like that?” I asked.
He sighed. “Look. I’m retiring in two weeks and she’s a mayoral candidate. I don’t need the kind of grief keeping her locked up would bring. And she looked like a hell of a lot of grief.”
Ida Belle and I glanced at each other and I shrugged. We couldn’t really argue.
“What about Gertie? Aren’t you going to release her, too?” Ida Belle asked.
“No can do. She assaulted a state policeman. I have to wait and see if he wants to press charges.”
“And where is he?” I asked.
“Escorting the other detainees on the bus to New Orleans. It will take hours to book them all, so I don’t anticipate he’ll return until tomorrow.”
My heart dropped. “You’re keeping her in here all night?” Without Gertie, there was no storage facility visit.
“I don’t have any other choice,” he said.
“Can we at least bring her some clothes?” Ida Belle asked.
“I would appreciate it if you did. Bring her a toothbrush and dinner if you’d like.” He glanced over at Gertie and winced. “Look, it’s not like I want to keep her here, but the officer she Maced is a real hard-ass. If I turn her loose, he’ll make trouble for me. It’s just the way he is.”
“We understand,” Ida Belle said.
I looked over at her. “We do?” Gertie and I spoke at the same time.
“Sure. We can’t fault the man for doing his job,” Ida Belle said, her voice much nicer than normal.
Which meant Ida Belle had a plan.
“If you say so,” I said and looked over at Gertie. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you some clothes, bathroom stuff, and something to eat and be back in a jiffy. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
“Is it okay to have my knitting basket? I’m trying to finish a baby blanket for a shower this weekend.”
Crawford nodded. “Sure, why not.”
I held in a smile. He had mistaken Gertie for a woolly-headed old woman who baked cookies and knit and got into fights with other old women. He didn’t see her as a threat. Boy, was he wrong on that count. I’d put Gertie and her knitting needles up against al-Qaeda any day.
“I’ll be back,” I said in my best Arnold voice.
Gertie grinned. “Excellent choice.”
Chapter Twelve
Ida Belle and I hurried up the sidewalk to the sheriff’s department, her clutching two tote bags and me a pillow and blanket. Between the state police presence and the closing of the polls at the end of the day, the residents had seen no further reason to stand around in the heat and humidity and had made their way to their homes. The street was littered with paper plates, streamers, election flyers, and soda cans, sprinkled with the occasional illegal beer can.
“Who has to clean up this mess?” I asked.
“The town will hire people to do it. You ask me, they ought to get that lot in New Orleans released and make them do it.”
“Do you think Gertie can work her magic with the knitting needles?”
“Oh, she’ll have no problem opening the cell. We just have to hope these brownies send that policeman guarding her to the can long enough for her to escape.”
“You put enough Ex-lax in them to keep an elephant in the bathroom all night.”
“Yeah, but it’s safer than drugging him to sleep. They might test for that. An upset stomach after gorging on brownies is something he isn’t even likely to admit to.”
“True.”
“Did you have any trouble giving Ally the slip?” Ida Belle
asked.
“Tons of trouble. She’s what’s referred to as a Stage Five Clinger according to some man on television. Anyway, I finally convinced her to go see Carter in my place. I told her it would make him feel better if I sent her to personally explain that I was tied up trying to get Gertie out of jail.”
“And she bought that?”
“I don’t think she thinks it will make a whit of difference to Carter whether I sent her or gave him a call, but she wants to do me a favor so badly that she didn’t question my silly idea.”
“Whatever works. I talked to Emmaline earlier. She said Carter has been hell on wheels ever since Dr. Stewart said he had to stay another night.”
“I know. When I talked to him, I could practically feel steam coming out of the phone.”
“If the swelling hasn’t come down enough, the hospital is the best place for him.”
“We all know that. Even Carter does, although he’s not about to admit it.”
“He’s a man, after all,” Ida Belle said.
I nodded and we hurried into the sheriff’s department. Marie greeted us from the front desk. “Where’s Myrtle?” Ida Belle asked.
Marie pointed behind the desk and we leaned over to see a prone Myrtle softly snoring. “Since I’m not an official employee,” Marie said, “they wouldn’t let Myrtle leave, but I got tired of her leaning on me, so I made her lie down behind the desk. That way no one knows she’s there unless she gets to snoring loud again.”
“We brought Gertie some clothes and dinner,” Ida Belle said. “Is it all right to take it back?”
“Please do. That Officer Crawford is fit to be tied over Gertie’s lack of clothing. So far, she’s refused a blanket, my sweater, and a tarp. Crawford even got desperate and offered her his shirt. He kept asking what was taking you so long.”
“I had to bake some brownies,” Ida Belle said, then leaned across the desk and whispered, “Do not eat the brownies.”
Marie stared for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Oh. Right.”
“And order the nice policeman a sandwich,” Ida Belle suggested. “I’m thinking chicken salad.”
Ida Belle gave her a wink and we headed back to the drunk tank. I gave her a high five as we walked down the hallway. The woman had serious moments of brilliance. If Crawford ate chicken salad and the brownies, he’d have no way of pinning down which one made him sick.
Gertie was stretched out across the bench, in all her glorious half nudity and snoring like a freight train. Crawford sat in a chair turned at an angle where he could clearly see the door but only see Gertie if he turned his head a little to the right. He wore an aggrieved expression that I recognized oh so well. I’d worn it many times when I was dealing with Gertie. He rose from his chair as we approached.
Ida Belle held up two tote bags. “We come bearing clothes, food, and knitting supplies.”
Crawford looked relieved. “I’m happiest about the clothes.”
Ida Belle laughed and pulled a Tupperware container out of one of the totes before setting them next to the cell. I banged on the bars to awaken Gertie, who popped up off the bench, flailing around like a half-naked chicken caught in a tornado. It took her a couple of seconds to wind down and focus.
“Oh, it’s you,” Gertie said. “What the hell took you so long? There’s a draft in here that blows straight down the back of that bench. If you sit for too long, your butt crack freezes. Had to lie down and save myself.”
Crawford blanched and shifted his gaze to the floor. Ida Belle shoved the Tupperware container at him. “I made these for you. I figured you could use a little reward for drawing this detail.”
Crawford pulled back the edge of the lid and smiled. “Brownies. My favorite.”
“Everyone’s favorite,” I said and shoved blanket, pillow, and tote bags through the bars to Gertie, praying that Crawford didn’t ask to look through them.
“I really appreciate the pick-me-up,” Crawford said, happily distracted with his container of dessert. “This detail is far from my usual beat.”
“What’s your usual perp?” I asked.
“Murderers. I’m a homicide detective, but I pissed off my captain and he sent me down here to this mess. I’ll be glad to get back to murderers. They’re more predictable.”
I nodded. “Marie is ordering you a sandwich from the café. It should be here soon.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to burst into tears. “That’s great. You know, this is one strange place but some of you are really nice. No one would have ever thought to bring me food back in New Orleans.”
“You got too many Yankees moving into the city,” Ida Belle said. “Some of us haven’t forgotten our proper Southern upbringing.”
Gertie pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, then stuck her entire head in tote. “Hey, how come I didn’t get any brownies?”
Ida Belle put her hands on her hips. “Because all this stress has probably got your blood sugar through the roof. I brought you a peanut butter sandwich, soup, and an apple. That’s sweet enough.”
“Whatever,” Gertie said and pulled the sandwich out of the tote along with her knitting needles and a roll of baby-blue yarn.
“Well,” Ida Belle said, “I guess we’ll get out of your way and let you get back to work.”
Crawford lifted the Tupperware container. “Thanks again for the brownies…and for bringing her clothes.”
“You’re welcome,” Ida Belle said. “Hopefully you’ll be on your way back to murder and mayhem tomorrow.”
“Your lips to my captain’s ears.”
We headed out of the drunk tank and back up front. Marie glanced down at the still-snoring Myrtle, then leaned across the desk. “Is there anything I need to do?” she whispered.
“Nope,” Ida Belle said. “The less you know, the better. Just deliver the sandwich to Crawford and pretend you don’t see or hear anything unless someone makes direct contact.”
Marie nodded. “I can do that.”
“What now?” I asked after we exited the sheriff’s department.
Ida Belle pointed to Francine’s. “We have dinner and we wait. You put my cell phone in the pillowcase, right?”
I nodded. The police had confiscated Gertie’s purse with her cell phone in it. “She’ll be able to call as soon as she gets out. Assuming she manages to get out at all.”
“She’ll get out,” Ida Belle said.
“What happens when Crawford notices she’s gone? He won’t be in the can all night.”
“I put a blow-up doll and gray wig in one of the totes,” Ida Belle said. “Gertie will stuff it under the blanket so Crawford will think she’s sleeping.”
“Do I even want to know why you have a blow-up doll lying around?”
“Not me. My next-door neighbor found it in her teenage son’s closet. She was ranting to me about youth and perversion last week.”
“You stole it from your neighbor?”
“Of course not. I asked her to borrow it so that Gertie and I could use it as a portable mannequin for clothes alterations. The solid ones take up a lot of space and aren’t so easy to move around.”
The mental picture of a blow-up doll wearing one of Gertie’s flowery dresses popped into my mind and I cringed. “Good God.”
Ida Belle grinned at my discomfort. “I threw in a spare pair of the camo undies so that she can leave part of the butt peeking out. Crawford won’t come near that cot.”
It was an unsettling mental picture, but then unsettling is exactly what might keep Crawford at bay long enough to pull this off. I opened the door to the café and we took a table next to the front window where we had a clear view of the sheriff’s department.
“Can Gertie blow up the doll without passing out?” I asked.
“It comes with one of those battery-operated air compressors. It’s small but the doll’s not that big.”
Between the blow-up dolls that came complete with their own air compressors and the thought of Ger
tie dressing one in camo underwear, I was starting to lose my appetite.
Francine strolled over with her pad, her big blond hair drooping a bit. “Ladies,” she said. “How’s Gertie holding up in Shawshank?”
“She’s fine,” Ida Belle said. “You know Gertie. She fares as well in a tank of sharks as she does in church on Sunday.”
Francine nodded. “Those state police are holding her just for spite. A judge is going to take one look at her and tell the cop to grow a pair. Assault, my fanny.”
“My guess is it won’t even get that far,” Ida Belle said. “If that cop presses charges, he’ll catch hell forever for accusing a granny of assaulting him.”
I heard a wail across the room and looked over to see Laurel lifting her crying baby from his high chair. An older woman sitting next to her pulled out a bottle and passed it to Laurel. Francine glanced at them and frowned. “Poor kid. He’s usually one of those happy babies that never cries. I guess he’s picking up on his mom’s stress.”
“You heard about the boat?” Ida Belle asked.
“It’s pretty much made it around town. I mean, we all knew that boat was sitting on bottom somewhere, but it feels different when you got proof. One of the shrimpers that brought up the sheriff department’s boat was in earlier. He said that roughneck who dives has offered to go back down and look for the…you know.”
We nodded.
“It’s nice of him to offer,” I said. “It might make things easier if they could have a real service…I mean, complete.”
“I agree,” Francine said.
“Who’s the woman with her?” I asked.
“Hank’s mother,” Francine said. “She’s sorta a wreck. I can’t imagine, losing your child… Anyway, you two didn’t come in here to get depressed, so what’s it going to be? Chicken-fried steak?”
It was so tempting to blurt out a “yes” to my favorite of Francine’s dinners, but with a busy and physical night ahead of us, fried food probably wasn’t the best option. “I better keep it light tonight. I’ll have the grilled chicken with rice.”
